Magic
by sad sabrin
Summary: Magic does not exist, does it? Story of a father who teaches his son about the existence of magic. A father who teaches him that magic does exist, that magic is in our lives. Magic is normal, magic of the world. please try.


I don't own Harry potter characters and I don't make any money from it,. It all belongs to J.K. Rowling. The genius that she is.

Author: Sad Sabrina

Word Count: 3,000

Summary: Magic does not exist, does it? Story of a father who teaches his son about the existence of magic. A father who teaches him that magic does exist, that magic is in our lives. Magic is normal, magic of the world.

Magic

He was sitting in his rocking chair, head in hands, just physically there. His mind was in a party, a party that took place five years ago. Even now, he could remember it as clearly as that day, his last straw.

They were in a party, for his first achievement as a lawyer. His colleague was boasting all through the party. "You cannot believe how he solved the case." He said. "Nobody believed that we could win the case, and they repeatedly told us so, the other lawyers told that we have no chance in winning, everyone warned us not to take the case. But your son never listened to them, and look what happened, he won the case. He solved it all in just an hour. Our poor client was nearly jumping up and down; he hugged us all, and nearly danced in the court. He had no hope that he could see his daughter again and there he managed to take the guardianship. You won't believe how wonderful it was, it was like magic, a miracle, so perfect. Your son is a genius sir, let me tell you, I cannot describe it, it was just wow, you know." The man was exaggerating, sucking up to his father, and he was annoyed. "Why the man can't shut his damn big mouth up, if he continues my father would say some stupid and embarrassing thing." He thought. As he was about to interfere, he heard his father's voice and he know that he would be victim of a long period of merciless teasing from his colleagues, what a happy day indeed. "But my dear boy, it was indeed magic, don't you know that it exists." His father's voice rang in his ears, damn that senile old man.

Everyone laughed; no wonder they thought that the old man was teasing the enthusiastic lawyer. "Please, please don't say anything else; let them think you were only joking. God, please do not let him embarrass me farther." He prayed in his mind, but his father's sigh and next sentence destroyed all his hopes, all his prayers. "I don't know why everybody laughs when I say that. Don't you understand that I am completely and utterly serious? Was my tone a joking one? I was just stating a fact!" everyone was dumbfounded with his declaration; they were looking at him as he was crazy, something that his son understood and wholeheartedly agreed with. His father was mad. A few hours later his guests departed, still mumbling together, and shaking their heads, no doubt all were gossiping about the stupidity of the old man.

That was how the two men found themselves in the leaving room. The older one sitting calmly, sipping his tea, while the younger was pacing furiously.

"I can't understand you father, I really can't. In every opportunity, you utter this nonsense, as if it is a bloody mantra for you. For god's sake, tell me why are you trying to destroy every one of my parties? What do you want to turn me to the laughing stock of my friends? What have I done to you to deserve this humiliation?" He shouted all this to the old, and just received a calm reply.

"Calm down James, I cannot understand you at all?"

"You damn well can understand me, what is that nonsense that you keep on saying over and over. You destroyed several of my birthday parties, my graduation party, and you messed this one up. After every single one of them I was mocked, everyone laughed at me. Each time I asked you to stop it, but you didn't. Father we are not children to be amused by your fairy tales, and you are not a child who makes up stories. It is enough. Everyone looked at us like idiots, please father promise me, you wouldn't repeat that again, magic isn't real dad, when do you want to understand it?" He waited for his father answer, hoping that he for once would accept, if not about the stupidity of magic existence, then to at least to promise not to utter the rubbish again.

"But my dear James, magic does exists." He said softly.

"Father, please." He cried in frustration. But his father even withheld his soft reply from him.

"It's the final straw, I'm leaving." He threatened, willing his father to cave under the pressure, but there was no reply. He left home that day and never returned.

That was the last time that he saw his father, he came to his office several times, asking to meet him, each time he asked his secretary to ask him one question.

"Have you changed your idea?" and each time the answer was a firm no. So he never accepted his father into his office, never saw his father. He justified himself, said that he didn't want to be disappointed again, but it was hard, so very hard for him. He was raised with one motto, FAMILY COMES FIRST. Every minute of their separation was torture. Every time that he rejected his father's plea to see him was a new unhealed cut in his heart, so many times he wanted to accept him, to forgive him, but his stubbornness won, a trait so strong in the Potter family, the same trait that prevented his father from accepting his pleas, prevented him from accepting his father's pleas. Now he had to hear the news of his father's death from a stranger, and it pained him. His father was a bit mad not just because of believing in magic, but also because of his other strange ideas and behaviors, but he still was his father and he loved him, and it pained him to know that his father died alone, without a family at his side, and it was all his fault, his only family. He should have been beside him at his deathbed; he shouldn't have left him alone with just the servants. He cursed himself for his stubbornness, what would have happened if he had just allowed the old man be as he was. He had many questions in his mind. How did he die? Was he alone? He saw himself at fault. What would have happened if he had talked to him? He had taken this chance away from himself and his father; he had destroyed their last chance at being a family.

A few hours later, he was driving with a heavy heart to his childhood home in the country, to the manor that his father loved with all his heart. He reached his ancestral home just on time for the funeral. His father's lawyer and long time friend had taken the matter into his own hands.

In the funeral, many people spoke about his father. All said good things; his father had helped people, orphans. How did he never found out? They all talked about his wisdom and generosity. Were this people speaking about his father? He always saw his father as a senile old man, and these people speaking so highly of his father just made him confused.

After the ceremony he went to his father's lawyer, intending to talk to him. He wanted answers more than anything else, he needed them, his questions were eating him inside out.

"Uncle Ron?" He called softly, his uncle had a temper, and he didn't want to be at the receiving end of it tonight.

"You came so late James, so late, he died waiting for you." Ron said, and placed his hand on his shoulder, and looked him in the eye with tear-filled eyes that glittered in the sun. "Go to his room, he said that you will find your answers there." He said to the young man, and lightly pushed him toward the manor.

He went to his father's room, looking for something to answer his questions, and there right on the bedside table he found his father's diary. He always wanted to read it, even tried to sneak it once, but he was found out and was grounded for a month. He looked through it and saw just a few written pages. It was not like his father. He knew that he wrote in his diary every night, but it was at most 10 pages and most of the pages were half written. He shrugged his shoulder and started reading the first page.

Page 1

I feel the eerie feeling of death, and I know that my days are limited. I don't want others to know about every matter of my private life so I burnt all my diaries today. I am writing a few pages as a last massage for my son, as I know the possibility of him reading my diary is greater than a letter. As he always was curious about them and their contents.

It's quite late and I am so tired, so many last things to do, and not enough time. I just have a deep regret. I wish I could have spoken with my son once more. I wish that I could have told these to him in person, I want to see him once more, to hug him, smell him, and tell him the cliché I love you for the last time in my life, I know that my days are numbered, and I regret not seeing him before I go to my next great adventure.

Page 2

Yesterday sleep consumed me not giving me enough time to start writing; hopefully Morpheus will be more generous to this old man tonight.

My dear son I want to narrate a story to you. The story of how I developed the insane idiocy that you graciously described. I clearly remember that day, the day in which that all my life changed.

I was driving near the bank of Seine, thinking about my life. About my friends, or better yet lack of it, as none of them was really my friend. They had gathered around me, either for my money or for social statues. And I thought about the woman that I loved, the woman that broke my heart. I found her in bed with the rival of my company, I found her whispering its secrets to him as he pounded into her. I heard him whisper Ginny as he sucked her neck,I heard my heart breaking at the roar of their passion. After my parents' death, at the age of twenty I had inherited all my families' money as the sole heir, and had many connections in the government due my father working there. Nobody was mine, my friends weren't my friends, and I broke up with my girlfriend, the one that I thought I loved as she was clearly in love with my money, she was a cheating bitch. Nobody cared about me. I had no one in this world, an ancient mariner alone in a world.

Alone, alone, all all alone.

Alone in a wide wide see.

In those moments, I hated my life more than anything in this world. I derived aimlessly, not knowing where I wanted to go. In the road, I saw a woman carrying a large package, which looked heavy. I passed her, but couldn't continue, something was telling me to stop. So I stopped and helped her to take the package to the car. She thanked me and said she couldn't find a taxi, and wasn't sure she could have carried it.

In the last sentences, the handwriting became a bit blurry, as if his father was fighting sleep, James noticed.

Page 3

Being an old man is not something interesting. I remember times that, I worked nonstop for two days, but yesterday I couldn't even continue writing my story. Let's continue my son, it is better for you not to hear the rambling of this old man.

I asked her where she was going at that time, and with the heavy box that she couldn't even carry. She told me that she couldn't start her car, and as the box was needed for tomorrow morning, she had to deliver it personally. Therefore, I took her to her destination. It was an orphanage.

I asked her what was so important in an orphanage that she had to deliver it in the middle of the night, and could not wait until morning. I found out that there would be a festival the next day, while I was helping the Miss. Granger to organize the things that she took out of the big package. The ceremony was a way for acceptable couples to know the children, without affecting their lives, and emotionally involving the children. I found out that they did it every two months hoping that the children to be adopted, and to have a real family.

I looked at her, seeing her at a new light. My heart ached for those children. What was it like to be paraded, in front of these people who can change their future, I believed that those children know the hidden reason of the party.

It was the last sentence of the page. He turned the page.

Page 4

The next day I went to the orphanage, just as the introduction started. I hated it, I hated the way that young and old couples looked at children as objects in a second hand shop, not as a human being, they searched through them as if they were looking for a doll, not a kid. I hated when people used me for their own gain, and I hated these couples for their behavior toward these children. Especially when I heard, what the woman said to his wife. "No I don't want her she is plain. Look at that girl; she is cute, and that one looks like a combination of us, or that girl over there she really looks smart. But this one is just plain." I was livid when I heard it. I wanted to dtrangle them with my own hands, I wanted to shout END THIS NOCKERY, but I just watched unable to do anything.

I found a new fact that day, Miss Granger, or Hermione as she asked me to call her was an orphan adopted from the same orphanage, and that was the reason that she worked here. She said, that she still remembered her life there, a life not so pleasant, so by working here she tried to help children, making it easier for them. Hermione was one of the lucky ones, his adoptive parents loved her as their own daughter.

James was shocked Hermione Granger was his mother. So it was how his parents meet each other. There was only two more page, and he was anxious to know what would happen next.

Page 5

I think this few words will be my last ones. I have a feeling that I won't see tomorrow.

I could not forget the children, or Hermione, so I went to the orphanage again. That became a routine after a few weeks. I started to go there instead of spending time with my acquaintances. I enjoyed it more than everything else. My life changed a lot, the emptiness wasn't there anymore. I loved children, and I helped by every mean that I could, whether by money or by my mere presence. Mr. Potter changed to Uncle Harry for the children, kids loved me. And I loved their silent supporter. That was how I fell in love with Hermione; frequent visits derived me to see her devotion for children, her loving soul, and gentle behavior. Even after marriage we didn't stop visiting the orphanage. We loved the children as much as we loved each other; they had become a part of our lives.

One day in a festival, our kids dressed as wizards, witches, and angels. They were adorable, cute. That day those little wizards, witches, and angles stole our hearts by their magic, innocence, and purity. We found out something that day, we could never leave our children, as they were ours, all of them. We visited on Sundays and Tuesdays. They were angels on Sundays, perfect children, but wizards on Tuesdays, creating havoc, making noise, and still they could charm their way into our hearts. Even after Hermione's death twenty years after our marriage, I couldn't stop going to the orphanage, I needed them, I needed a place to still be alive.

Back all those years, I found something so important, I found magic. What would have happened if I left Hermione without helping her? What would have happened if I hadn't gone to the orphanage the next day? What would have happened if didn't visit the orphanage again? I lived a happy life because I loved, because I helped others. What is magic if not love, helping others without a price?

James looked at the page with a pale face remembering all the times that he chastised his father because of his odd behavior, his odd words. He understood the meaning of "meeting with angels". He understood what his father was trying to say in the party all those years ago. He won the case because he was trying to help the man, although he could not pay him, that day he was using magic, magic of love.

He was driving home all the while thinking about what was written in the last page.

I found happiness the day I shared the weight of magic.

Diary of a Barmy Old Man

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**I had written this story, two years ago as a class project, although with different names. Today I was checking my computer and saw it, so changed it a little and decided to post it. I love this story so much, and at that time, I worked so hard on it, so I wish that you enjoyed this little fic as I did.**

**Love,**

**Sabrina**


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